


Just Kids

by alacarton



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8055928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alacarton/pseuds/alacarton
Summary: Roy misses work. Riza turns Central upside down to find him. Chris works her magic.





	Just Kids

“ What do you mean you haven’t seen him? I thought he was in the monthly development meeting this morning, and his meeting with the brass this afternoon!” 

Havoc flinched at the tone of her voice. He’d known the news wouldn’t go down well. “ Well, he didn’t go to see the General, ma’am. He hasn’t been seen since leaving the meeting this morning, before lunch.”   
  
Hawkeye clicked her tongue, before nodding in dismissal at Havoc, turning on her heel and storming from the office. _Where the hell was he?_ Unknown to Havoc, she’d already covered their corner of HQ, becoming more desperate (and irritated) with each shake of the head from other officers, and not a single sighting of him reported. This wasn’t like him, to truly blow off work, with absolutely no hint of a message to her.  
  
At any other time, she’d have assumed he was out on personal business, but she didn’t trust his current mind. He’d barely slept, instead choosing to stake out the records room until the wee hours of the night, sometimes _all_ night. He barely ate, donating his lunches to Breda instead, and she doubted anyone other than her spotted the way his once well-fitting shirt had begun to hang from him. The tell tale dark eyes and brush of stubble were enough for her to know _just_  how troubled he was over Hughes’ death; she needed no further reason to keep close tabs on him. Sure, he put on the greatest of facades around others, but recently that had been slipping, and that _scared_  her; it had only ever been obvious to her that he was lying, but now, there’d been comments from several people. He had snapped at her more than once, and she could see the freefall he was slipping into. _It terrified her_.   
  
And so, after convincing herself that he was nowhere to be found within the Central HQ, and with no reply to his telephone at home, she had rushed home, picking up the spare key to his apartment she locked away, and found herself in front of his door. The day’s newspaper was still on the mat. _Damnit._ She knocked lightly, glancing down the empty corridor.

“Colonel?” No reply. She sighed irritably, knocking once more. “Colonel, are you in there?” Still nothing. Her patience was running thin, and underneath the facade of anger, she was beginning to find a lick of panic. Hammering her fist on the door, she did her best to suppress it. To hell with the neighbours. “Colonel, if you don’t open this door, I’m going to have to open it.” Silence greeted her once more, and she could wait no longer. Slipping the key into the lock, she gave the door a shove, and was greeted by a dark, empty apartment. She had helped him move in, and the boxes still piled high told her not much had changed since. A pile of crumpled uniforms laid by the archway to the kitchen, and a large box of books had been unceremoniously dumped to the floor.   
  
_Fuck._

The apartment was most definitely empty, and it looked as though it had been for at least a few days. He wasn’t here. That lick of panic had returned, and it quickly became a dark pit in her stomach. _What if something had happened to him? What if the same people responsible for Hughes’ murder had picked their next target? What the hell was she doing if they had?_ She fought back the urge to scream, to cry, to do anything other than simply stand her in silent shock. He was genuinely gone, and instead of being out looking for him, from saving him from whatever awful fate had befallen him, she was stood in his home, this cold, dark apartment, the faint smell of cigarettes tickling at her nose, and… _cigarettes?_  The realisation stopped her mind in its’ tracks. Roy didn’t smoke; he despised it. Havoc had been with her almost the whole day, and it certainly wasn’t her clothing. Her eyes scanned the apartment, and she found the source of the smell; a single cigarette butt, in the middle of the spotless glass ashtray, sat on the table in the corner. That only left two options. An intruder, which she highly doubted from the state of the apartment, or…  
  
She took off down the corridor, hurriedly locking the door behind her. He was at _home,_ and this wasn’t it.

  
  
And that was how she came to find herself with an untouched drink in hand, surrounded by a variety of giggling women and truly enamoured men. _Madame Christmas will just be a moment_. That had been over 10 minutes ago, and coupled with the nauseating worry, the smell of stale alcohol and cigar smoke had her ready to vomit. She’d never been particularly comfortable in bars, particularly alone. It was a sticking point in her proudly staunch stoicism.

“It’s been a lot of years since I have seen you, little Elizabeth.” The voice made her jump, and she felt herself relax as Chris sauntered back behind the bar, those same sharp eyes falling on her. “ I didn’t think this was your kind of joint.”  
  
“Hello Madame…it’s been a lot of years. You look just the same.” She was greeted with a chuckle, and felt herself relaxing. She’d always thought that was where Roy had learnt his casual attitude and that unexplainable way he _breathed_  confidence and calm. Chris had always made her feel at ease, even as a young girl. Beyond that gruff, stoic exterior laid a heart of gold, with a sense of humour to boot. _It most definitely runs in the family_ , she had decided many years ago.  
  
“Well, I wish it were true. The years have got to catch up at some point.” She paused, before chuckling again, picking up the brandy bottle and a glass, that damned little smirk appearing on her face. _His smirk._ “I found something of yours. I was wondering when you’d be in to pick it up.”         
  
The relief hit her like a wave, and she felt it rush to her head. _He was here._ She did her best to remain straight faced, but she knew her eyes would give her away, especially to present company. “Well, I had only borrowed it, after all. I know that it’s very precious to you. If anyone was to find it, it would be you, I am confident it is safe with you.” She wanted to _scream_ , to launch herself over the bar and sob her gratitude. The dark cloud that had been following her, threatening her, for the past few hours had quickly dissipated.  
  
Chris simply chuckled once more, pouring herself a drink from the bottle. “ Safe and sound, like we both like it to be.” She took a swig, savouring the taste, before nodding her head towards the locked door behind her. “ Come, see for yourself. I’ll give you a hand.” 

No sooner had the door to the bar firmly locked shut, than Riza was dragged into a rough, quick hug, Chris tutting as she pulled away. “ I told him to pass a message on to you, but he refused. Stubborn man. I knew you would be worried.” She looked over her again, Riza suddenly feeling much younger than she had in many years, before the older woman broke into a gentle chuckle. “He doesn’t deserve you sometimes. Patience of a saint…It is good to see you, with all the bad that is going on in the damn world right now…Your grandfather talks about you often.” That warm, at ease feeling returned, curling in her chest, and she smiled back, Chris turning and heading up the stairs, Riza following behind. “He called me from home. He’d been drinking, something about needing my help. He was pretty upset.”  
  
That nagging worry returned. _Drinking again._ She could see it easily, sat at home, surrounded by books and papers, after another night of no sleep. _Typical Roy._  “He has been drinking a lot…since…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, staring down at the wooden stairs instead. Chris stopped, glancing back to her, frowning deeply.  
  
“ Since Maes died,” she finished gently, Riza nodding mutely. She clicked her tongue once more, before sighing, continuing up the stairs. “ He was a good kid, Hughes. Utterly tragic. With a wife and kid at home too…” She turned down through a curtain blocked doorway, the rooms further down the hall buzzing with high pitched laughter and gossiping, decorated with strings of lights and brightly coloured scarves. The hall they stepped into, however, was much more mutely decorated, and Riza recognised it as the private quarters to the giant building. She followed Chris down it, stepping into a large, gently lit room, flames glowing in the fireplace, and Roy himself curled up on the large sofa, stirring as they entered the room. “ Roy-boy, you’ve got a guest.”  
  
He was a far cry from the usually spotless, graceful Colonel that walked HQ each morning, but she felt her heart swell none the less. Half awake, with heavy, ringed eyes and dark hair ruffled, stubble now past the five o’clock shadow she had been privy to on occasion, he looked far more _Roy_  than she had seen in years. He sat up and stared at her, dressed only in a crumpled white shirt and casual slacks, rubbing at his face, genuinely bewildered. “Lieutenant? What are you doing here?”

“I’ll get you a cup of tea.” Chris patted her shoulder as she left, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence hung in the air; _what was she supposed to say? Why the hell did you miss work? What were you thinking staying up all night and getting drunk? Hughes wouldn’t approve of this. Just how do you expect to make a good impression at Central if this is what you do?_  
  
“Are you okay?” It was much gentler than the voice in her head wanted it to be, and he knew that. He looked away from her, unable to meet her eyes, before straightening up. _No, not at all, said his response._  
  
“Yes. I’m fine.” She had expected it, a lie as a clear as day, but still, she was not prepared for quite how _much_ she would feel looking at him like this. Hughes’ death had been devastating for him, but seeing the usually calm, completely in control man like this was almost too much to bear. She moved to sit next to him, frown crumpling her face. “ It’s late, isn’t it? Why aren’t you at home?” This forced nonchalance was painful, to listen to and to watch.   
  
“Because I was looking for you. You…” _Worried me. Scared me. Made me think you were dead._  “Missed work this afternoon, and we didn’t know why.” He still could not meet her eyes, and he shrugged, wringing his hands together.  
  
“ I forgot to send a message.”  
  
“ I realise that.” Her patience was wearing thin, and this _victim_  act angered her and scared her in equal measures. “This is…this is not what Hughes would want, _sir.”_  
  
“Hughes would not want to be dead either, Lieutenant, but that is the reality of life. We don’t always get what we want.” It was enough to push her over the edge, and she stared at him, feeling rage begin to bubble. Her calm, gentle tone snapped, and she felt the words tumble from her mouth.   
  
“So you will just allow grief to overcome you? To ruin you? In this desperate pursuit of whatever knowledge you think you will find to free you from it? You will allow it to snatch all of your goals, all of your _dreams,_ your ambition! You will allow it all to die with Hughes, because you feel that is the fate intended for you? I have never heard anything so _idiotic_ come from your mouth, Roy Mustang.”   
  
He stared at her, face changing at her words. She recognised the flash of anger melting from his eyes, being replaced by a guilty, sorrowful frown, his tongue flicking at his lips in an anxious attempt to calm himself. His anger disappeared, his shoulders sagging. There was silence in the room, bar her heavy breathing. _She had promised herself she would not get upset._  But this, this was too much. To lose Hughes was enough, but to see Roy slip from her was impossible to fathom. _This_ was her duty, her devoted task. To keep him on the straight and narrow, to guide him when he stumbled. She _would not_  fail at this. The touch of his hand in hers snapped her from her thoughts, the gentle squeeze pulling her back to him and those _damn_  eyes.   
  
“I will not become your father, Riza.” She knew he would understand, but still was not ready to hear the words. “I am being selfish. I’ve hurt you…again. I’m sorry. I just…I can’t…Maes…and you…I…” There was silence again, before he pulled her to him, arms slipping to curl around her lower back, his chin gently resting against her collarbone, nuzzling into the nape of her neck. She froze, his breath against her so foreign but at the same time, so _natural,_ and it took a moment before she realised he was crying. She instinctively curled around him, a hand running through his hair, quietly hushing him as she held him, biting back her own tears. He said nothing, other than the occasional choked apology, which she quickly whispered away. Their relationship had always relied on reading between the lines, on their own secret signals, and understanding physical cues, even from the earliest days at her father’s home as teenagers. She doubted she could possible misunderstand this one.  
  
She wasn’t sure how long they had stayed like that, or for that matter, at what point they had fallen asleep, curled together on the sofa, Roy’s head tucked underneath her chin, her much smaller body wrapped around him. She certainly hadn’t heard Chris return, hands devoid of tea, but instead carrying a large blanket, which she draped over them, silently turning off the light and leaving them curled together in front of the dying fire, closing the door behind her with a long sigh. “ _Just kids_ …”


End file.
